Tunnel Lights

Not sure how I got here.
I awoke, if I remember correctly, in this place
with dark, rounded walls, slippery to touch
where the water has drained from above.

Narrow path, and I can't turn around,
Though I can hear distant sounds
from far behind me . . . dull echoes.
There is no one behind me, I am sure.

I am going somewhere. I choose to.
There is darkness, and I am afraid,
but I gather resolve and place one foot in front
and will myself to move.

Up ahead, I see the darkness for an eternal expanse;
Yet, every now and again, I think I see a glimmer of light--
or is it a trick my mind has constructed?--and I smile
with faultering hope or unnerving anxiety . . .

There is something up there, isn't there?

Time passes. I have gone a mile. Or a meter.
It's hard to tell in this tunnel time warp.
It's hard to breathe, the air is heavy.
I am wheezing with the burden of movement.

I know it would be simpler to lie down
and close my eyes until the darkness
claims my life at last . . . but I cannot.
My resolve is stronger than the un-light.

Step. Feel the walls. There is water here.
Above, somewhere, there is life and light.
If only I could climb and claw my way up.
Up . . . There IS light and life and love there.

And . . . there it is! . . . another flicker
of something I can't identify--but light it is!
That makes two. Today there have been two sightings!
Or, wait . . . was that today and yesterday?

No matter. I see them, the tunnel lights.
And I can remember them in my mind, just long enough
to hold on desperately to their memory.
They, the promise of what lies ahead.